


Beginning in the Middle

by Durante243



Category: Supernatural, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Hunters vs agents, SuperWood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durante243/pseuds/Durante243
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In certain lines of businesses certain things are taken for granted. Like hunters just kind of accept that people come back from the dead- and Agents don't really think twice about keeping a pet pterodactyl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning in the Middle

For years now Ianto has been resisting the why game. Why does the sun still shine? Why does Jack insist on making horrible coffee? Why do weevils leave the sewers? Why is there a rift in space and time- and why in Cardiff of all places? 

See, its that last one in particular that’s got him thinking feverishly at the moment, as he drags his fingers through the woven threads that cut through his skin. His fingers are raw, but he keeps pulling, his joints ache but he pulls, he'll get through to the other side if it’s the last thing he does, he wants home. 

In certain lines of businesses certain things are taken for granted. Like hunters just kind of take for granted that people come back from the dead- its kind of an everyday thing for them. Gods- gods are another one. If Ianto ever actually met a God he think he would have to imbibe a very large bottle of rum, after he killed the thing of course. But hunters- hell they all have stories where they find and kill gods. He doesn't always believe them because there simply isn’t that many gods in existence but bottom line: agents don’t do that kind of bullocks. 

He keeps pulling on the cloth- it’s loosening, but not nearly as fast as he'd like. The skin on his fingers has worn off, the muscle is going quickly too... 

Agents have different things they take for granted though- like average citizens being aliens. Or a pet pterodactyl. See hunters don’t deal with time and space- they deal with here and …. Well, dead or killers. But *time* and *space* means tussling with roman soldiers and klepto-blowfish. As a torchwood agent you get used to thinking about time as wibbly wobbly. Things you do now effect yesterday and tomorrow- time isn’t really a line, not for them. 

The white of his bone was now showing, but it didn’t bother him as much as it should have- it no longer hurt that much. Not as much as the little alarms going off in his head, the alarms built and set from years and years working as an agent. An agent of the Rift. 

How many times had he cursed the rift and its trash? How many hours had he logged researching ways to close it? How it opened? What it was? Why it was? Stone hedge made more sense then the rift. 

With one last pull inato finally felt the cloth give, the veil parted and his eyes saw for the first time in… forever. His heart leapt and sank. He remembers that being a science experiment- so he guessed his heart spelunked.

In front of him was the millennium fountain. 

He took a breath as he felt his body settled after so long in the void. Damn gravity made it so heavy. Breathing was hard too, but he supposed he’d get used to that. He doesn't think he’ll ever get used to the angry tearing noise echoing in the ether, around and around and around and around…

 

Fuck.


End file.
